


be as you've always been

by brightlight



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Childhood Friends to Lovers, M/M, Polyamory, Royalty AU, Seemingly Unrequited Pining, eventual OT3, in this situation mingyu is guinevere i suppose but it all ends well, prince seokmin, seokgyu arranged marriage, sorcerer minghao, very very loose arthurian legend/bbc merlin au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 16:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19154296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brightlight/pseuds/brightlight
Summary: As a prince and the son of a sorcerer, Seokmin and Minghao really didn't have any reason to find themselves as friends. Still, unlikely as it was, the two of them found themselves grown up and grown together in a friendship that never faltered. At least, it hadn't faltered until Seokmin's marriage was arranged.





	be as you've always been

**Author's Note:**

> this is a commission for the kind @ladyeerie on twitter! i apologize for taking three hundred calendar years to finally finish this up, thank you for your patience! also big thanks to the existence of xcalibur & whatever casting director made this culturally important casting decision. 
> 
> as a note, this is sort of set in a backdrop that is inspired by mid joseon-era korea (with some slight changes, for instance the fact that they wear crowns bc i needed to do those xcalibur images proud) but in a world where everybody’s way more chill about the concept of marriage and also gender and how both work. and also where magic is real. let’s all suspend our disbelief 
> 
> (title from "be" by hozier)

The first time Minghao met Seokmin, they were ten years old.

“We are entering the palace, Minghao,” his father had told him. He was adjusting his long coat, dyed dark purple, finer than the ones he usually wore. “You will keep your head down and not speak unless spoken to. You must show respect.”

Minghao nodded, the firm tone in his father’s voice keeping him from asking too many questions. Vaguely, Minghao had an idea that the palace existed, that the king lived in it and that he was important. The idea of royalty, the social weight that held, wasn’t something he was overly familiar with, but he understood respect. 

So he walked behind his father in a matching set of purple clothes, the coat too warm in the summer heat, his eyes trained to the ground as soon as they entered the palace gates. He kept his hands clasped behind his back, bowed low to everyone, even the guards. His father always told him he was mature for his age, and Minghao had a little streak of pride at that. He would show his father he was respectful. He was a child, but he was _mature_ , he could handle traveling with his father anywhere, even the king’s palace. 

But before they could make their way to the throne of the king (what business Minghao’s father had with the king, Minghao wasn’t sure; he rarely got the details of these things even when it was only the chambermaid down the street who was asking for his father’s help), Minghao was shocked out of his low gaze and clasped hands by a young voice calling, “Hello!”

Minghao’s head popped up in surprise, and forgetting himself, he found himself looking right at a boy who looked about his age, dressed in a fine silk hanbok and brandishing a wide, bright smile. Too late, he remembered his manners, and bowed deeply. Luckily, though, his father seemed surprised too, too distracted to be disappointed in Minghao. 

“Hello, your highness,” his father said in formal dialect, bowing low himself. The change in dialect clued Minghao in to how important this child must be, and Minghao dropped into another bow. 

The boy in front of them laughed a little. “You don’t need to do that. Hello. My father’s expecting you, right?”

Minghao’s father nodded, and the boy smiled again, led them to the throne room, which was impressive in a way that made Minghao feel a little intimidated. The walls and ceiling had so much detail, so many finely-crafted points of wood poking out, Minghao wondered if it was designed to frighten anyone who entered. Minghao found himself bowing again, to the king, for that must be who the man in throne was, and to the young girl seated in a throne to his right, who looked a good handful of years older than Minghao himself. He bowed again to the knight standing to their side, and to everyone else in the room for good measure. 

“Seokmin,” the king said in an even voice, “You are a prince. You are to sit at my side, not go running off. Present yourself well.” The girl next to the king nodded, not admonishingly, but as if to agree.

The boy’s smile slipped, and he nodded, walked over to sit at the less impressive throne at his left side. Minghao kept his eyes on the ground as the king spoke to his father, explained that the queen was ill, that he heard that the Xus were the best sorcerers he could ask for help.

And Minghao knew his father was powerful, well-regarded, but it made him smile a little, looking down at his own feet, that his family was the best at something. 

Minghao’s father agreed to help, and the king sighed a little. Maybe he sounded relieved. 

“We’ll discuss payment, then, and further details,” the king said.

“Minghao,” his father said quickly, “Wait outside.”

“Can I wait with him?” The child sitting next to the king asked. Minghao noticed that he spoke in formal language, even to his father. 

The king paused. Minghao looked up from his fixed gaze to see the king looking slightly puzzled. The girl hadn’t asked to leave, and seemed surprised at the boy doing so.

“For a moment, Seokmin. Surely you have studies to complete today.” 

The boy smiled widely again. “Yes, I’ll head to my tutor after a moment.”

The king nodded, and Seokmin scrambled down from his throne, across the room toward Minghao. Right. They were supposed to leave now. Minghao turned around and headed toward the large doors that two men moved to open for them. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to wait, exactly, but when the large doors closed again, Minghao figured the room he was in would suffice. It was a large room that looked similar to the throne room, but decorated with tapestries and paintings. Minghao wondered why kings needed to live in such big houses.

“Are you a sorcerer too?” Seokmin asked him, and it made Minghao turn around, almost startled to see the boy still at his heels. 

“I will be one day,” Minghao answered quietly. 

“I’ll be a king one day, too,” Seokmin said. There was something about the way he smiled, big and bright, no hesitation, that made Minghao feel shy. That coupled with the way Seokmin’s language had changed, informal now, the way Minghao talked to boys his age in town.

“Do you live here?” Minghao asked, curious.

At that, Seokmin made a face. “I do everything here. I never get to go anywhere.” 

“Oh,” Minghao said. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that.

“You probably get to go lots of places with your father,” Seokmin said.

“He’s training me,” Minghao answered. “He takes me along so I can learn.”

“Where do you live? I heard sorcerers live in the woods, where no one can find them,” Seokmin said, voice going hushed and eyes wide. 

Minghao laughed. “No, we live right outside of the city walls. People need to find us, so they can ask my father for help.” 

“Oh,” Seokmin said. “Well, at least you’re close by. Maybe I’ll get to see you again.”

“The queen, is that your mother?” Minghao asked. Seokmin’s face fell so dramatically, Minghao instantly regretted asking. Briefly, he worried that he was talking to Seokmin all wrong — he was important, he was going to be a king, and Minghao was talking to him like he was any other boy his age. But Seokmin talked to him like that too. It seemed confusing. 

“Yeah,” Seokmin said quietly. “She’s sick.”

“I hope my father helps her get better,” Minghao said. He learned very early not to make promises about things like this, but — but he really hoped so. 

“Me too,” Seokmin said. 

Minghao wanted to say something else, to go back to the way Seokmin looked before, all eager and curious, but before he could, a voice called, “Prince Seokmin!”

There was an older woman walking toward them, a pile of books in her arms. At the sight of her, Seokmin smiled sheepishly. 

“Is it time for tutoring already?” Seokmin asked.

“You know that it is,” the woman said, but she was smiling kindly at him. “Come along.”

Seokmin nodded, then looked at Minghao. “What’s your name?”

“Xu Minghao,” Minghao said, embarrassed that he forgot to mention it before now. 

“Goodbye, Xu Minghao. I hope we get to see each other again,” Seokmin said, sounding so….so _nice_. Minghao didn’t meet a lot of children his age in general, but the ones he did meet were rarely this nice. 

“Me too,” Minghao said back, and found that he really meant it.

++

Minghao doesn’t know if they would have been allowed to be friends if Seokmin’s mother had not recovered, those years ago. As it was, though, Seokmin’s father seemed uncharacteristically permissive of Seokmin’s excursions to the home of the town sorcerer.

“Hello, Seokmin,” Minghao heard his mother say from across their home, and Minghao perked up from the book he was reading, already smiling before he even saw Seokmin walk in. “I just made some lunch, if you’d like some.”

The first time Prince Seokmin showed up at the door of their small stone house, his mother’s eyes had gone wide and she had snapped down into a bow, making Seokmin splutter nervously as Minghao looked on, unsure of how to proceed. She apologized for the state of the home, for not having adequate provisions, all while Seokmin insisted that everything was perfectly fine. There was a guard sitting on a horse outside their home. It was all a little surreal, but Minghao was pleased to see him, even then.

“Your father let you come?” Minghao had asked, standing behind his mother in the doorway. 

“For a little while,” Seokmin said with an almost apologetic smile.

“Minghao?” His mother asked, pulling up out of her bow to look at him incredulously. 

“I told you, Seokmin wanted to come visit,” Minghao said quietly, embarrassed at the look his mother was giving him. 

“Right. Your friend, Seokmin. Prince Seokmin,” his mother was saying, sounding a little disbelieving. “Well, perhaps some warning, next time, so that I can offer the prince something closer to what he’s accustomed —”

“Oh, no, I don’t — I don’t need anything special,” Seokmin interrupted, looking just as embarrassed as Minghao. “I think it’s lovely here.”

Minghao’s mother blushed. “Would you like some tea, at least?”

“Yes, thank you,” Seokmin said, bowing in thanks and making Minghao’s mother blush again.

 

She calmed down after that visit, and greeted him now with a smile. 

“Seokmin,” Minghao said, getting up from the table he was reading at. “Hello.”

It felt like every time they saw each other these days, one of them was taller than the other. Minghao’s growth spurt was winning this time, and he picked himself up on his tip-toes to make himself even taller than Seokmin.

“No fair, stop growing,” Seokmin complained. 

Minghao may have been taller, but Seokmin was growing better than him, he thought. Minghao kept getting lankier, limbs feeling too big for his body most days, but Seokmin had...muscles. From training, he learned a year or so ago, from learning how to shoot with a bow and arrow, learning how to hold a sword properly. The heaviest things Minghao carried were spellbooks.

Years passed like that — Seokmin growing broader in the Xus’ doorway every time he entered it, his smile just the same it always was, but his voice deeper. Minghao’s too. They grew up, their seemingly incompatible lives intersecting more than they should have, more than either of their fathers thought they had time for. 

Eventually, the guards stopped escorting Seokmin from the palace, and he escorted himself, a sword on his hip. Eventually, they found themselves too large for the set of boulders they liked to lean against in the back garden. Eventually, they found themselves too large to sit cross-legged on the floor of Minghao’s bedroom, playing games with marbles and apologizing when their voices got too loud. 

Eventually, unlikely as it seemed, the prince and town sorcerer-in-training found themselves grown up, and grown together.

++

“Did you know,” Seokmin says when Minghao opens the door. “That my horse hates riding on stone roads?”

“Your horse sounds very particular,” Minghao says back with the hint of a smile.

“She much preferred the trail to your family’s home,” Seokmin says, walking past Minghao down the stairs into the little kitchen. 

“Well, times change, Prince Seokmin,” Minghao says with a quiet laugh, following Seokmin down into his own house. 

It’s a new thing, him living on his own, and the house shows it — he has a pile of spellbooks in the corner next to his cauldron, a pot hung over the stove with nothing in it, and the only furniture is the little wooden table in the middle of the room, and his mattress off to the side.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Minghao asks in sarcastic drawl, but sparse or not, he’s liked living here so far. 

“You’re joking, but I like it,” Seokmin says, walking over to sit in the wooden chair at the table. 

“You like it because you get to go home and lie on a feather mattress, Prince Seokmin,” Minghao says, smirking at the affronted look on Seokmin’s face. 

“How dare you,” Seokmin says with a little huff. “Is that all I am to you? A spoiled prince?”

“It is part of what you are,” Minghao says. He’s still smiling though, likes the way Seokmin pouts when he says it. “Among other things, you know.”

“Like what?” Seokmin asks, seems pleased to play Minghao’s little game.

“A competent bodyguard,” Minghao says, gesturing toward the sword Seokmin is carrying. “A friend.”

There are more things he could list, things he has been noticing lately as Seokmin has been spending more time as a prince and less time as a palace-bound child. Minghao can tell from the way Seokmin carries himself lately, the responsibility he’s had to sling over his shoulders like another silk coat. He could tell Seokmin that among other things, he’s a good leader, a good man. But they don’t quite say things like that to one another, so he bites his tongue and lets himself tease instead.

“Just a friend,” Seokmin sighs in response. “You are _my_ very _best_ friend, Xu Minghao.”

“And you’re mine, you silly fool,” Minghao says, laughing when Seokmin’s face falls at the comment. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit today?”

It’s only the second time Seokmin has been here, to Minghao’s little hanok close to the city center. Minghao’s father seemed to think he was ready to work on his own a bit, and while Minghao hasn’t done much business yet (he’s a relative unknown, this far into the center of Hanseong; his father’s name can only take him so far), it feels good to be independent. The first time Seokmin was here, he helped Minghao lift the heavy mattress up into the house, dressed in commoner’s clothing that did little to disguise the fact that the prince was assisting someone in moving house. That was a week ago now, and Seokmin’s current visit is unannounced. 

Seokmin’s face does a funny thing at Minghao’s question, going strangely serious, and Minghao finds himself dealing with a trickle of worry. 

“I...my father gave me some news today,” Seokmin says. 

Minghao nods, bracing himself for the worst — is Seokmin leaving to train in his father’s army? That wouldn’t surprise Minghao. Or is his mother sick again? Minghao’s father helped with her health more than once as they grew older, but if that was the case, Minghao doubts Seokmin would have been able to hold onto the facade of nonchalance for as long as he did. 

As it turns out, neither of those things are true, though. The truth is admitted by Seokmin in a tone that’s a little more guarded than he is any good at being: “My marriage has been arranged.”

Minghao blinks. Nods his head slowly. “I see.” 

Another inevitable, but not one Minghao had given much thought to in years. Not since they were barely fourteen, sat out in the Xus’ back garden, and Seokmin, with a dark cloud on his face, told Minghao that he never wanted to get married. To Minghao, this was hard to understand — all he knew of marriage was his parents, who loved each other in their quiet way, and the older women down the road who still brought Minghao’s family fresh bread every weekend since Minghao’s father had used magic to keep foxes out of their garden. 

But for Seokmin, marriage was politics. A delicate way to maintain and adjust power that Seokmin had been learning about since he was a child. Nothing to do with love, and that seemed to be the part that bothered him.

“But your father loves your mother, doesn’t he?” Minghao asked quietly, feeling nervous to ask. He felt nervous whenever they spoke of the king; he had that effect on people. 

“I think so,” Seokmin said quietly. “He cares for her, like he cares for me. But it’s different than — than what it should be, to love someone.”

“How do you know, what it is to love someone?” Minghao asked, and the two of them grew quiet then.

They didn’t speak of it again. Until now, six years later, stood in Minghao’s house, Seokmin’s face drawn tight and serious. Truthfully, Minghao should have spared it a thought earlier; twenty years old was late for a prince to be wed. From what Minghao knows (which admittedly must be only a quarter of what Seokmin knows), royals were lucky to wait until they were sixteen for such things.

“And who will you marry?” Minghao asks, not sure if it’s something Seokmin wants to answer, but not sure what exactly _what_ Seokmin would want to answer in the current situation.

“The son of a senior official,” Seokmin says mildly. 

Minghao raises an eyebrow. A few things about that are surprising to Minghao, but after all, his sister’s marriage was the one that mattered, politically. She married a prince from another province, and it was an enormous ceremony and an enormous gesture of political alignment. Seokmin seemed tense the entire time that preparations were being made for her, but there was something about that conversation they had all those years ago that made Minghao wary of prodding at the issue too much. 

Minghao nods. “I didn’t know that was something you wanted. A husband.”

Seokmin’s eyebrows furrow, and he frowns. “None of this is about what I want.”

Minghao feels the weight of his error immediately, guilt heavy in his stomach. “I...of course. Sorry,” he says in a soft voice. 

“If I had chosen, though, yes, perhaps I would have chosen a husband,” Seokmin goes on. He’s not quite looking at Minghao, focused instead on the wall next to him.

It hadn’t come up before. Of all the things they grew up discussing, Minghao knew this wasn’t one of the things he was allowed to talk about with the prince. He mentioned a girl once, a servant’s daughter with a pretty smile, and Minghao supposes he just assumed. There was a moment, years and years ago, when the two of them crowded next to each other in Minghao’s bed, poring over a spellbook with a burning curiosity over whether Seokmin could learn. They were pressed together side to side, and Seokmin reached out a delicate hand to rest on top of Minghao’s as they read the words one by one, not sure what they meant all strung together. There was a moment when Minghao turned his head minutely at the touch and found himself staring at Seokmin’s profile, sharp and dignified even before he was a teenager, and Minghao thought...well, he thought maybe there was a reason why he had never fixated on a pretty girl’s smile.

He nods, now. An official’s son — he mulls that over quietly. It’s a political statement, certainly, but not one that reflects very well on Seokmin’s father. The officials and the royals work together, and the marriage seems even to Minghao to be a comment on the influence of the king. 

“An interesting match,” he says quietly.

“You and I both know the kind of match it is,” Seokmin says back. His voice is tense, and Minghao looks at him to find his lips drawn in a tight line, expression challenging. 

“Seokmin,” Minghao says. “I’m so sorry.”

And Seokmin’s face crumples from what it was before, grows concerned instead. “As am I.” 

The apology, Minghao knows, is for more than the circumstances Seokmin finds himself in. He remembers when Seokmin’s sister was married, the way it changed her, took away the bits of freedom she managed as the crown princess, turned her into a figurehead instead. He remembers Seokmin hurt that she had someone else she had to put above even him, her brother. Minghao wonders if Seokmin sees the same process playing out in front of him now. Minghao wonders when the next time they will see each other is. 

There’s a spike of anger, then, that he hadn’t expected; not at Seokmin, even, but at the way their worlds work. At the reality of them that they’ve managed to avoid for a decade now. No matter the king’s willingness to look a blind eye all these years to their friendship, his restraint from forbidding it, Minghao realizes they’re now too far away from childhood for it to continue to work.

“I suppose things will change,” Minghao comments quietly, holding back the bite from his voice. 

Seokmin nods. “Yes, I expect them to.”

“Have you met him? This husband you’re to have?” Minghao asks. 

Again, a nod from Seokmin. “Of all the husbands I could have, he’s a suitable one. He seems kind, and...” he pauses.

“And?” Minghao asks, confused at Seokmin’s hesitance.

“And handsome,” Seokmin finishes, looking embarrassed.

There’s a feeling of uneasiness in Minghao’s stomach at that. He’s not sure why. “Well,” he says, flattening his clothes like it will work to flatten himself out, too. “At least there’s that.”

“Minghao,” Seokmin says, “I don’t want any of this to happen. I’ve never wanted any of this to happen. I’ve just wanted — I’ve wanted to be a good son, and do right by the people, and — and to be your friend.”

Minghao looks at him to find Seokmin’s face a mess of emotions. Seokmin has always been like that — so easy to read. Minghao thought it was a strange quality for a leader to have, but privately, he liked it. He figures he can proceed in two different manners: he could mimic Seokmin’s honesty, and tell him that he is afraid. Afraid of the way everything will be different after this, of losing someone he has relied on for so long. Or, the option that feels more comfortable, that will be better for both of them: he could begin to harden himself now, so that things don’t get quite so difficult later. 

His father always taught him to embrace the inevitable, to not let it sneak up on him. To not be complacent. He he has let himself go on for too long in this regard.

“You cannot live your life like that, and we both know that, Seokmin,” Minghao says, voice quiet. “You are a prince, and I’m barely anything more than a commoner. We will always be friends, but things were always going to change.”

Seokmin shows the hurt on his face as easy as anything. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

_It bothers me immensely, it bothers me in ways I didn’t expect._ That would be the honest route; that would be the response that would do them no good. “Whether or not it bothers me doesn’t make it less true,” he says instead.

“But does it?” Seokmin asks, stepping closer to Minghao. “Does it bother you, that I will get married, that my excursions out of the palace will have to stop, eventually, that — does it bother you?”

Minghao closes his eyes briefly. “If you truly think it does not, then you really are a silly fool.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Seokmin asks, “Will you come to the wedding?”

Despite it all, a ghost of a smile flickers on Minghao’s face. “I would be honored to receive an invitation, Prince Seokmin.”

They say goodbyes shortly thereafter, left not knowing what to say to each other. And except for two or three short letters, that’s the last time Minghao hears from the prince for a month. 

It’s the longest they’ve gone without seeing each other since the summer Seokmin spent in the southern provinces, staying with a friend of the family. They were thirteen, sad to part, but certain they would see each other soon; this time, Minghao finds himself with considerably less certainty.

Still, true to word, Minghao does receive a wedding invitation in the mail, a letter so official that it was hand-delivered by a man on a horse, and written out in gilded hanja. Minghao would know what it said even if he couldn’t read it, and there’s a sour feeling in his stomach at the sight of it. He sets it aside, tucked away with other papers, and doesn’t notice until he picks it up again the next week that folded inside of the official invitation is a smaller paper.

_Please_ , it reads, _I have missed you._

It’s not signed, but it doesn’t need to be. Minghao sighs, looks over the invitation again with reluctant curiosity. Kim Mingyu, that’s the name of the official’s son Seokmin will marry. He thinks about Seokmin calling him handsome, and he frowns. 

There is a strange part of him that wonders if Kim Mingyu will ever see Seokmin for the person Minghao knows him as — someone honest and good-hearted, funny, kind. He wonders what it is like, being married off to a prince. And the strange part of him whispers, _does anyone know Seokmin as well as I do? Will anyone ever? Will he?_ It’s a political marriage, but Minghao knows how Seokmin is; anything he can do to love this man, he will. Even if they are never in love, he will care for him, he will open his life for him.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts — the thought that he will be replaced. Not that he was ever anything to Seokmin besides a friends, not that he ever desired to be. Minghao shakes his head, pulls his hair back from his eyes. Of course he’ll go to the wedding.

++

“Handsome”, it turns out, to Minghao’s annoyance, was an understatement. Kim Mingyu is beautiful in a way that irritates Minghao like burrs stuck to his clothing, like the buzz of a wasp nearby. His smile is as pretty as Seokmin’s as they stand in deep blue samogwandae with crowns on their heads, making a good show of happiness that Minghao struggles to find a fault in. It’s strange, to look at them smile at each other. The whole ceremony is strange, from watching their procession to being surrounded by noblemen and officials, all people who have more of a right to be there than he does.

When Seokmin catches his eye, though, he smiles wider than he had the entire rest of the ceremony.

++

It’s early in the morning when the knock comes at Minghao’s door, and it’s all he can do to blearily pull on his clothing before he walks over and opens it. He’s expecting Junhui, the landlord’s son who comes by more and more these days, lacking much excuse, and he looks around and tidies a little with an incantation murmured under his breath; what business it is of Junhuhi’s if Minghao’s home is untidy, he’s not sure, but he’s known to nitpick. But instead, when he opens the door into the morning sun, he finds Lee Seokmin, dressed down in common clothes.

Minghao’s eyes widen as he looks over Seokmin, who looks slightly nervous to be standing there at all. 

“Seokmin,” Minghao says quietly. “Come in.” There is some urgency to the matter — he assumes that Seokmin is not supposed to be here. The way Seokmin walks in, quick and focused, almost confirms his suspicion by itself.

It’s been three days since the wedding, and Minghao has found life strangely slow and difficult. He’s spent his time holed up in his bed, poring over books to avoid thinking of much else besides magic. To see Seokmin in the flesh is startling after days of trying to put him out of his mind.

“Minghao,” Seokmin says, then pauses, looks down at the floor with a concentrated crinkle in his forehead. “It has been strange to go so long without seeing you.”

Minghao’s eyebrows raise. 

“Thank you for coming to the wedding,” Seokmin says in a softer voice. “I was glad to see you.”

“I was glad to see you too,” Minghao admits, because he figures he owes Seokmin honesty. 

Seokmin sighs, holds his hands behind his back, and looks like he’s preparing himself to say something. Minghao lets him, waits patiently for Seokmin to say, “I know that I am a prince, I know that I am married now, but I hope you know I am still your friend.”

“Of course I know,” Minghao says gently. “I am still your friend as well.”

“Then, can — could we act more like it?” Seokmin asks.

It’s Minghao’s turn to sigh now as he says, “Seokmin, you know we won’t be able to spend our lives with weekly meetings. I am not a priority for the royal family, and it’s alright to accept that.”

“I am not a king. I am no longer even second in line for the throne, since my sister’s son was born. _I_ am barely a priority for the royal family, and I think I have the right to pick out some of my own.”

“Does your father agree with that?” Minghao asks.

“I am old enough to disagree with my father,” Seokmin answers him. He sounds sure of himself, like he always does when Minghao knows he believes something. “I am allowed to have a life outside of my crown.”

“And what about your new husband?” Minghao doesn’t mean for his voice to go cool when he asks, but it happens nonetheless.

Seokmin’s eyebrows furrow. “I...I get along with him quite well, actually.”

A lump forms in Minghao’s throat. “Well, I am glad for that,” he says, because the least he can wish for Seokmin’s marriage is happiness. 

“He’s a good man. I haven’t had many other people to talk to lately, so...I fear I’ve spoken quite a lot about you,” Seokmin says, looking a little embarrassed. 

Minghao feels flustered; the prince and his husband, sat in their chambers late at night to discuss the sorcerer’s son? “I should apologize to him, then, for forcing him to be an audience to such a thing,” Minghao offers.

Seokmin smiles a little at that. “Perhaps you would like him.”

“I am not known to like many people, but perhaps,” Minghao answers.

“You are known to like me,” Seokmin says with a hopeful grin.

And yes, that is true. The children in the village outside the city wall would tease him over it when he was a child. _Maybe one day you’ll marry the prince right outside his big palace!_ his least favorite of them would call in a mocking voice, and Minghao would lower his eyes to the ground, cheeks gone hot. His father would rest a hand on his shoulder, and they would continue walking, his father offering him distraction in the form of asking him the spells he had learned. Now in adulthood, the chiding of village boys is gone, but Junhui drawled to him only a week ago, “You know, when you first moved here, we were all certain we’d be seeing so much of the prince. Shame he hasn’t been around much lately.” Yes, Minghao is known to like Seokmin. He wishes he didn’t feel so strange about it lately.

“That has always been true,” Minghao tells Seokmin with a short laugh. 

“Come by the palace next week. I...I would like you to meet him.”

“Really?” Minghao asks, cautious. It’s a strange request; in the last ten years, Minghao has only travelled to the palace a handful of times.

“He’s a part of my life now. I’m not sure how that will look yet, what part he’ll be, but — he’s there. And you are a part of my life as well.”

It’s a touching thing to say, and it brings that lump back to Minghao’s throat. He nods. “I will come.” And he doesn’t quite regret saying it, because he would like what Seokmin says to be true — he would like to believe they could continue on like they always have. But there is trepidation, an urge to tread carefully. 

And when he approaches the palace gates the following week, that’s exactly what he intends to do.

++

Kim Mingyu, in addition to being handsome, is terribly polite. A newly crowned prince, thrust up from noble society into true royalty — Minghao expected the worst. Sure, Seokmin said he was a good man, but Seokmin can be naive. Perhaps, Minghao thought, a pretty face was enough to convince him. But as Minghao is escorted into the tea room by a quiet guard, his first impression of Mingyu is the pleased little smile on his lips coupled with his good posture. A sign of good raising, sure, but there’s something about the neat line of his body that looks careful, as if he’s sure if he’s not allowed to take up any more room than that.

Minghao, to his surprise, finds himself endeared, just slightly.

“Oh!” Mingyu says in a quiet voice. “Oh, hello,” he repeats, before standing up and offering a bow. Minghao blinks, and follows suit, showing the proper amount of decorum to a newly crowned royal. 

“Hello,” Minghao says back, glancing up through his hair to find Mingyu regarding him with curious interest.

“I have never met a sorcerer before,” Mingyu says, sounding a little embarrassed to say it. Seokmin laughs, smiling his broad smile, and it’s strange, but Minghao has seen so few other people put that smile on his face besides himself. 

“Well, you have now,” Minghao says. He smirks, watches the way it makes Mingyu look nervous. He relishes in that feeling a bit, and he murmurs carefully practiced words under his breath to make the porcelain teapot hover in air before tipping to pour tea in the three cups placed out for them. Mingyu’s eyes go wide, mouth parting in surprise, and Seokmin keeps smiling. 

(When they were very young, Seokmin would get jealous. He would pout, say it wasn’t fair that he couldn’t do magic as Minghao skipped a stone across water with only a spell, and Minghao replied that it wasn’t fair he couldn’t be a prince. He grew out of it eventually, though, instead just fixing Minghao with a look of something like fondness whenever Minghao cast a spell. It’s that look he gives Minghao now, but Minghao feels a little embarrassed to receive it in front of Mingyu.)

When the teapot goes back to the table, Mingyu lets out an impressed little noise. “Your eyes — I didn’t know that happened.”

Ah, right. The gold that glows in his irises. Minghao smirks again. “Yes,” he says simply. 

“I don’t usually know you to be a braggart,” Seokmin accuses, and then it’s Minghao’s turn to look flustered.

“Is this bragging?” He asks, turning his eyes down to his tea.

“For you it is,” Seokmin says.

“Then I apologize.”

“Oh, don’t. I think it’s incredible,” Mingyu says, voice earnest. Minghao looks back up to find Mingyu leaned forward, eyes wide with honesty. And goodness, he is terribly handsome.

Minghao blinks, comes back to himself and shrugs. “Any time, your highness. I have devoted myself to the service of the prince for years now.”

“Ah, that makes it sound like we are not friends,” Seokmin complains, but his voice is light.

“Both can be true,” Minghao says wryly. Mingyu is laughing quietly, looking between the two of them.

“You were at the wedding ceremony. I remember seeing you, you were quite eye-catching,” Mingyu says. There’s a pause, and then his face goes nervous again, and he corrects himself. “Your clothing, I mean. It was purple, and no one else — you were the only one.”

“Sorcerer’s colors,” Minghao answers simply. “Yes, I was, at the request of Seokmin. We have been friends for a very long time.”

“And will be for a long time yet,” Seokmin says quietly. 

“I should hope so,” Mingyu adds with another small smile, and there is something in the happy tilt of his mouth that makes Minghao think that perhaps Seokmin was right about all of this.

 

Seokmin escorts Minghao out himself when they finish their tea and conversation, ignoring the offer of the guard who stayed firmly planted on the other side of the door. 

Seokmin stays quiet as they walk, but he keeps glancing over at Minghao, and Minghao is familiar enough with Seokmin that he knows he is waiting for MInghao to speak, to say something. 

“Yes,” Minghao says finally, “he seems like a good man.” 

At that, Seokmin smiles, looks down at the floor as they walk. “He does, I think.”

And Minghao should feel relief at that, shouldn’t he? His dearest friend was forced into something, and it should be a relief to know that at least it has a chance for happiness. These things sometimes don’t, he knows. Kim Mingyu, Prince Mingyu now, seems a particularly brand of harmlessly sweet that would almost be suspicious, if he seemed capable of such things. But as far as Minghao could tell, he was just...like that. Polite and conscientious. Kind. It should be a relief that the man Seokmin would surely spend the rest of his life with had those qualities. That it wasn’t as Minghao originally feared, a power-hungry child of wealth swept into the throne. 

The thing is that he doesn’t feel relieved. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly what he feels, but it’s a strange burn of a feeling. 

There was a certain pride, growing up being the friend of the prince. It wasn’t well-known to all, but those who lived in Minghao’s surrounding village of homes, certainly; it was a local legend, the young prince riding in on horseback to see the sorcerer’s son. Seokmin lived a life that afforded him few friends, and as Minghao grew older and understand better what Seokmin’s life really was, to make a smile bloom across his face felt special. Minghao felt special, leading the prince through the woods nearby when no one noticed they were gone, being the one who got mud on Seokmin’s face and washed it off later with water from the river, splashed him without using his hand, muttering spells under his breath until Seokmin squawked about fairness. Seokmin had tutors and servants and swordsmen and guards, but he didn’t have anything like Minghao. And for that matter, Minghao has never had anything like Seokmin. He had far less excuse for living as reclusively as he did, but he didn’t mind. He always had Seokmin, after all.

There’s selfishness crawling inside him tonight, claws digging into his stomach. Of course Seokmin deserves to be happy — as far as MInghao’s concerned, he deserves nothing more. But there was a foolish part of him that had   
hoped when he lived in the city’s walls, that envisioned a happy little life, closer to Seokmin. The two of them as they always were. And that was interrupted by the wedding, sure, but it had been easier to close himself off from his hurt before tonight. It was easier to resent the husband for ruining Minghao’s make-believe before he met him. Before it was Mingyu, who smiled so sweetly and touched Seokmin’s hand carefully, delicately, like it was something he had to earn.

Minghao keeps quiet on the rest of their walk through the palace, and the thing is, Seokmin doesn’t seem to notice.

++

Minghao’s work comes and goes, never the same from day to day. Some days, he has the worried faces of parents asking to help with their child’s illnesses. Some days, like today, it’s a simple matter of sealing up a house from the growing family of mice that won’t seem to fall for any traps. Magical pest removal, he thinks, was not part of his father’s lessons as a child. Still, it’s paying work, and he would be a fool to turn that down.

He is crouched at the corner of the family’s hanok, focusing the spell on the now-worn nooks the mice have lived in for weeks, when there’s a voice at the door calling his name.

“Xu Minghao!”

Minghao turns around, confused at the noise, and even more confused when he sees Junhui, the landlord’s son.

“...Yes?” Minghao asks. Any more questioning than that seems like a waste of time, especially considering the way Junhui looks like he just ran down the street to find him.

“You have a summons from the prince,” Junhui says, sounding out of breath. “There’s a guard and a horse waiting for you, and —”

“A _summons_?” Minghao asks incredulously. 

“Yes,” Junhui answers. 

Minghao blinks. “I — there’s a guard waiting?”

“Once again, _yes_ ,” Junhui says with a roll of his eyes. “I would not be here if I did not feel compelled by servitude toward our royal leaders.”

There’s sarcasm in his voice that Minghao finds funny, but he puts it out of his mind for now. Seokmin has never summoned him, and certainly never sent a guard to do so. He wonders, faintly, what is going on. He gives his apologies to the family with the mice, but their wide eyes seem understanding as he leaves, trying not to give into his urge to run back down the street to his own home.

The guard waiting there seems serious, face giving away nothing as he helps Minghao onto the horse and they ride toward the palace.

 

The panic, while not visible in the palace, is palpable. It comes off of the guards and staff like waves, hits you the moment you walk through the gates. The guard Minghao rode alongside still hasn’t said anything to him, and keeps up the pattern as he leads Minghao through the palace, his pace quick as they walk.

Minghao has been in the palace a few times, but not enough to know its layout. But by the path the guard takes him, he knows he’s headed toward someone’s private quarters. He expects Seokmin — why else would he have been summoned? His mind races with questions as he tries not to worry, but everyone around him seems to be in a similar tight-lipped argument with their own minds, which does little to assuage him. His trek through the palace continues, though, past lavish rooms and tapestries, and when the guard finally knocks on the door, Minghao isn’t prepared for the scene behind it.

The king is lying in a bed, skin pale, and surrounding him are the queen, the crown princess, and Seokmin himself, the three of them looking more frightened than Minghao has ever seen them.

At Minghao’s entrance, they look up at him, and before he has a chance to breathe, Seokmin is saying, voice soft and insistent, “Minghao. Can you help?”

And Minghao is nodding quicker than he even registers as he rushes forward to kneel at the bedside of the king.

 

 

Minghao has seen illness. He has seen it at all ages, sad as some of them have been. And magic can help, sometimes even cure, but it is rarely a miracle. Tonight, by the king’s bedside, Minghao does not perform a miracle, but he does manage to keep a spell going long enough that the king can open his eyes, that the color returns to his skin after hours of Minghao focused, all of his energy flowing out of him. It’s exhausting, this kind of work; magic takes your energy no matter what form you use it in, but these life-or-death scenarios drain Minghao like nothing else. 

When the king opens his eyes, MInghao closes his, slumps forward. There’s voices, Seokmin’s mother and sister speaking to his father, but Minghao is most aware of the hand on his shoulder, the quiet way Seokmin leans down to the crown of Minghao’s head and mutters, “Thank you.” Seokmin’s nose presses there momentarily, and if Minghao was more lucid, he would be able to tell if his lips followed.

++

Minghao has not been in the throne hall of the palace since his first visit here, small at his father’s side and desperate to behave correctly. Standing in front of the thrones now, many things are different. Seokmin’s mother, a woman Minghao has met once before, is sitting in the king’s seat, her crown heavy on her head. Seokmin and his sister wear their crowns too, ornate, and Minghao waits for them to speak as he stands in front of them.

“Your work has helped the king immensely,” the queen tells him, voice even. It is distracting how much Seokmin looks like his mother, all the sharp lines of her face so similar to his. But this isn’t the time for that, and he nods in acknowledgement of her words.

“I did only my duty,” Minghao says with a bow.

“Your family has done us many services over these years, and I have never forgotten that,” the queen tells him. “Your father is a good man and a powerful sorcerer, and it appears he has raised you the same way. Are you your family’s only child?”

“Yes,” Seokmin answers for him. If the situation were different, maybe he would smile at Seokmin. As it is, the weight of the situation is not lost on him. The queen’s gaze softens momentarily over at Seokmin, and Minghao feels he only notices it because he is so used to Seokmin’s expression doing the same thing.

“You have brought pride to him, then, and to your family.”

“I will pass the compliment onto him.” Minghao keeps his voice steady and serious.

The queen goes more serious, then, as she looks down from her throne at Minghao. “It is through your actions that the king is alive. Xu Minghao, I must request that you keep him that way.”

“I will do everything in my power. As you know, magic is not always a cure,” he says carefully. 

“Yes,” the queen says, voice quieter. “I do know.”

There’s a moment of quiet, of shared worry between the royalty on thrones. But it passes, and the queen says, “For as long as your magic helps, would you stay here, in service to us? We will house you, and you need not worry about your home in the city.”

Minghao looks at the queen, then at the princess in turn. Their faces are stoic, unreadable, and when he finally turns to look at Seokmin, the contrast is apparent. On Seokmin’s face is written every _please_ he cannot say out loud, because princes do not beg anyone for anything, no matter the circumstance. And he holds his gaze with Seokmin steady as he nods, says, “Yes, your highness,” to the queen, and only looks away to drop into another low bow.

++

“It is a fickle game, to get wrapped up with kings and queens,” Minghao’s father tells him the day he travels with the news. “Sorcerers are no servants.”

“They will pay me far more than a servant, and you know that,” Minghao says, letting out a breath across their low wooden table. His back has been rigid straight for the past two days in the palace, and he is enjoying the freedom to slouch.

“You will not accept it, I also know that.”

MInghao smiles at his father, and his father offers him a smile back. “My generosity may extend farther than yours, but it does not extend that far.”

“It does where the prince is concerned,” his father says in a quiet voice.

Minghao’s smile fades, and he reaches out to hold the stone teacup his mother set out for them before rinsing her hands of discussion of business. “We are friends, but I am not his servant.”

His father raises an eyebrow. “Nor are you his lover.”

At that, Minghao nearly drops his cup. “I have never suffered from any delusion that I am, nor have I ever wanted to,” he says in a rush, a defensive anger rising in him.

His father doesn’t say anything for a moment, but holds their eye contact while he sips his tea. “You are still young, Minghao. Sometimes, these things are better seen from the eyes of those watching over you.”

“Prince Seokmin is a dear friend. He is my only dear friend. He would do the same for me, in a situation where he could. My actions are not those of a lovesick child,” Minghao says fiercely. 

“No,” his father agrees. “They are not. Do not take my advice to mean I am anything less than proud of the honor you will bring to our name. I warn you only to be cautious.” 

“I have never ignored your warnings for caution, and I will not start now,” Minghao says, voice losing its heat. He stands, tea abandoned, and his father does the same. “You know where to send your letters for me. I hope to see you again soon.”

When his father hugs him, arms wrapped tight around him, Minghao finds freedom, too, in not needing to do all the work to hold himself upright.

++

The days go like this: Minghao visits the king’s chamber early in the morning to check his condition. He is healing, Minghao thinks, but slowly. He’s weak, rarely able to say more than a few short sentences to Minghao, and Minghao sits at his side with a spellbook until the morning sun grows bright and high, until a servant brings in food for him to eat.

Minghao leaves then too, to eat his own lunch. The servants tried to bring him food at first, but he assured them it was unnecessary. He would rather travel down to the kitchens himself, grab a serving of whatever is being cooked and eat at the small table there. The first time Seokmin found him there, the kitchen staff barely noticed his entrance; clearly, Seokmin had formed a similar habit over the years.

Truthfully, in the first week Minghao stayed in the palace, he barely saw Seokmin at all. Minghao wasn’t privy to royal business, but there was much to discuss, he was sure. That day in the kitchen, Seokmin looked worn. So there was a rush of pride at the way the corners of his lips turned up at the sight of Minghao. “What a lovely sight,” Seokmin remarked, and Minghao’s enjoyment of the words was followed by a reminder in the voice of his father. _Nor are you his lover._

“I cannot say the same,” Minghao said, ignoring the rattling thoughts in his mind. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” Seokmin said simply with a humorless laugh. 

“Take care of yourself, or I will need to kneel at your bedside next,” Minghao said dryly. “Better still, get that husband of yours to take care of you.”

He’s not sure what made him say it. It was a little like digging a thumb into a bruise. Maybe it was just to see the reaction on Seokmin’s face, but the surprise turned to pleased embarrassment hurt too. 

“He has tried his best,” Seokmin admitted. “I hope I am not too difficult a man to care for.”

“I have never found it a challenge,” Minghao said quietly. 

Seokmin looked up at him, and a little bit of the stress fell from his face as he blushed, cheeks gone pink. 

After that day, it became a habit. Minghao came down to the kitchens to eat, and Seokmin was there waiting for him, a heaping bowl in front of him as he made pleasant conversation with the kitchen staff who prepared the food. It was strange, but it made him wonder about all the parts of Seokmin that Minghao never got to see — all the ways he was when he was here in the palace, his home. It’s the same feeling he got when he crosses a courtyard and found Seokmin training with a sword, held sure in his grip in a way Minghao had never seen him hold anything. He moved like water, well-practiced, and Minghao found it fascinating, all the gaps that existed in his knowledge of Seokmin. For all the ways Minghao was certain he knew Seokmin, the man, he was learning he did not know nearly enough about Seokmin, the prince.

After his lunch, Minghao usually retired to his quarters, reading through spellbooks on healing magic. The castle held quite a few, remnants from the queen’s own stints with sorcerers soothing her illness, and Minghao thought his time was well-spent trying to learn.

At night, he tended to the king again; magic was strongest when the moon and sun were rising to power, after all. The dawn and the dusk, when forces of the world were in motion — that was the time for powerful magic. He found himself tired after his evening sessions with the king, body drained from effort, and it was all he could do to slump back to his quarters with a bow to the guards outside the king’s doors. 

Sometimes, though, a guard would say, “The prince has requested your presence,” and instead of traveling to his own chamber, he would head to Seokmin’s. Those nights, he and Seokmin sat together in the prince’s ornate lodgings, and talked. More often than not, Mingyu sat with them, and Minghao observed carefully how much trust Seokmin put into him. More than Minghao would, certainly, but that was a mark of their respective characters, he was sure. 

Tonight, Seokmin looks serious, as he has more times than not lately. He says, without preamble, “My sister is taking the crown.”

Minghao lets out a breath and nods, barely surprised at the news. Mingyu, on the other hand, gasps.

“Does your family not trust your father to recover? What about the queen?” Mingyu is asking in a hushed tone.

“It’s not about trust. It’s about the symbol of the throne. It must be steadfast and impossible to doubt,” Seokmin says quietly. He sounds almost sad about it, about the whole situation. 

“The king and queen are too weak,” Minghao fills in softly. Seokmin nods. 

“I have never heard of the queen’s weakness,” Mingyu offers.

“I wouldn’t imagine it’s something often discussed by officials,” Minghao says in a dry voice. Mingyu, for the first time since Minghao met him, looks momentarily offended. 

“She has been ill many times,” Seokmin explains. “It is known, but rarely comes up, since she has never ruled. It would certainly come up if she took the throne.”

“Your sister will make a good queen,” Minghao says.

Seokmin nods. “And her husband a good king. But the upheaval — there hasn’t been something like this in generations. Everyone is concerned.” He sighs, shoulders falling, and Minghao watches as Mingyu reaches a hand out to rest on one of them, touch light. Seokmin undeniably leans into it, shifts himself into Mingyu’s touch, and Minghao swallows, looks down at the table.

“I am exhausted,” he says before he stands. “I need rest before dawn.”

“Of course,” Seokmin says, sounding distracted, and Minghao does not bother to look at Mingyu before he takes his leave.

++

Minghao had never, not once, wished of being Seokmin’s lover.

Maybe it was just that now Seokmin had someone to love properly, Minghao had to realize all the ways it would have looked, if he had thought to wish for it all this time.

++

One afternoon, Minghao returns to his chambers with the intention of studying, but instead finds Mingyu standing outside his door, wringing his hands.

Minghao stops when he sees him, bows as he says, “Your highness,” and isn’t sure how to proceed from there.

“Minghao,” Mingyu says, language formal. “I was hoping to speak with you.”

“You must be thrilled, then, for your hopes to bloom true,” Minghao says. Mingyu furrows his eyebrows, and Minghao can’t help but to smirk a little. “Come in, Prince Mingyu.”

Mingyu looks out of place in Minghao’s quarters. They’re nicer than the servants’ quarters, Minghao thinks, but nothing fancy. He has his cauldron and spellbooks stacked in the corner just like they were in his hanok in the city, a book opened on the table and some clothes he hasn’t tidied sitting in a mess. He mutters a spell under his breath and they fold themselves up neatly.

“May I ask what you wanted to speak about?” Minghao asks. He looks Mingyu over, the gold thread in his hanbok that shows his royalty, the way he still carries himself with straight posture like he did the first day they met. It annoys him, briefly, that Mingyu is taller than him, and Minghao pulls himself up straighter to match Mingyu’s size as best he can.

“I know I will never be what you are to him,” Mingyu says, and his straightforwardness takes Minghao aback. For a moment, Minghao drops his posturing, and lets himself dwell on those words. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” MInghao says simply. “I am a friend from years ago, and that is all I will ever be.”

Mingyu is looking at him calmly, but there’s focus in his expression. “You are too intelligent to believe that.”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to imply, but I assure you, your assumptions are incorrect,” Minghao says coolly. 

Mingyu sighs. “You don’t hear the way he speaks of you. I care for Seokmin, really, more than I ever thought I would. More than I had any right to expect. He seems to care for me too, and I am happy about that, because I was never raised with any promise of love.” He pauses, looks down at the floor. Sad — Minghao realizes he’s sad. He feels a pang of empathy that he’d prefer not to deal with. “But no matter how he cares for me, I have made my peace with the fact that he will always care for you first.”

“I do not think that is true, Mingyu,” Minghao says in a well-practiced even voice. “You have been married for barely two months. In time, his affection for you will grow, I’m sure of that, and it’s already quite strong. As for me, there is only so far friendship can take you. I will be a boyhood memory someday, I’m sure.”

“I really think you are a smart man, Minghao, so I’m not sure why you keep saying such stupid things,” Mingyu says. There’s almost a smile on his face, like Minghao told a joke, and for some reason Minghao finds it frustrating. “Can you really not see that he loves you?”

It’s like plunging headfirst into a river in the winter, the way Mingyu’s words hit him. Shocking and stinging and making it hard to breathe. He turns away in a way that might be rude, but he is unwilling to let Mingyu see the emotion on his face.

“That’s a cruel thing to say,” Minghao mutters quietly. “And I did not take you for a cruel person.”

“It is the truth,” Mingyu says simply. “And as I said, I have made my peace with it.”

Minghao doesn’t respond. He doesn’t know what he’s meant to say.

Mingyu sighs again. “To be honest with you, what I want is Seokmin’s happiness. He is a lovely person, and he is lovelier when he is happy.”

“We can agree on that,” Minghao says, turning himself back around finally to face the prince. 

“I will do what I can to make him happy, but...you have more sway on his happiness than I do, I think,” Mingyu says with a small smile. “I suppose I just wanted to tell you that I — I’m not upset with the way things are. I would be honored for him to love me half as much as he loves you.”

Minghao swallows. “And who are you, this nobleman’s son made of so much generosity? I find your kindness so difficult to understand.” 

Mingyu’s eyebrows raise. “I have always hoped to be a man of more than my circumstances.”

“A noble wish, but few are,” Minghao tells him, frustration in his voice. “For instance, I will always be a sorcerer in service to the royal family, and you will always be a prince by marriage. Do not come to me and tell me that you believe me higher in importance than I am, and you lower. You are naive.” 

“You are cynical,” Mingyu counters, but his voice doesn’t have any of the heat of MInghao’s. “And I understand why you would rather hope for less rather than more. But hope has nothing to do with the reality of him loving you.”

“What do you know of love?” Minghao spits back at him. “What do you take for love?”

“I knew your name after the first time I spoke with Seokmin alone. You were the first thing he spoke of. Did you know that?” Mingyu asks him. He is smiling now, a small thing. “Even then, I knew my place.”

“And what is your place?” Minghao asks.

“Ideally, next to you,” Mingyu answers. He bows, lower than he has any need to, and says, “I apologize if I have upset you. I wanted only to be honest.”

“Good day, Prince Mingyu,” Minghao says quietly, and Mingyu nods at him before he turns to leave. 

“Good day,” he agrees.

++

On the days Seokmin was escorted to the Xu home, he always left before sundown, and it always made Minghao feel lonesome in a way that hurt too deep.

“When you leave, it feels like you are a world away,” Minghao told him once in a streak of honesty. 

“I am only at the palace,” Seokmin said with a laugh, but then he went quiet. “It does feel far, though.”

“Isn’t it strange we have never seen each other in the darkness?” Minghao asked. “It’s like you’ll disappear if the sun goes down.”

“Maybe I am magic too,” Seokmin teased, bright smile on his face. 

If Minghao believed in fairytales, he might have believed that one — Seokmin had so much sunshine in him, after all, that it only made sense for him to disappear in a glimmer at the sight of the moon. 

“Maybe one day, I will stow away here,” Seokmin offered. “Hide in the trunk in your father’s office until nightfall and stay for the night. We could go exploring in the dark.”

Minghao smiled at the thought. “You would be too frightened.”

“I would not,” Seokmin said back. “I am _brave_.” 

Minghao laughed, loud the way Seokmin always made him laugh. 

“I wish you could stay,” he said when his laughter passed. 

Seokmin’s face fell into something serious. “I wish I could stay, too.”

That night, like all the ones before it, Seokmin left as the sun began setting. He was already old enough to carry a sword at his hip, and sat on the back of his horse, he looked like a painting. A perfect picture of royalty. 

_I wish you could stay_ , he thought again, and was surprised to find tears prickling at his eyes. A foolish thing to wish, anyway.

++

Time passes slowly in the palace. Minghao finds himself more tired the longer he tends to the king, and his afternoon studying is often replaced by an afternoon nap. It gives him trouble falling back asleep at night, but he’s started using that time to wander the palace grounds more than he feels comfortable doing in the day.

In the day, with the palace staff buzzing around, it is easy for Minghao to remember that he does not belong here. At night, he finds that he fits in a little better. 

It has become his routine to walk through the gardens, to sit beside the pond and think of the way the moon reflected off of the river near his own childhood home. It’s peaceful there, and Minghao has needed some peace, lately.

Except tonight, instead of the empty garden he’s grown used to in the past two weeks, Minghao finds Seokmin sitting at the side of the pond. It’s a thing that seems impossible — surely Seokmin does not know his heart so well as to know where to find it beating. Minghao swallows, and walks up to the prince, saying nothing as he sits at his side.

“Prince Seokmin,” Minghao greets quietly. 

“I hate when you call me that,” Seokmin says with a little laugh.

Minghao smiles, looking out onto the still water. “What are you doing here?”

“A night guard told me you sit out here late into the evening, when everyone is asleep. I wanted to see the appeal.”

“It is a beautiful garden,” Minghao says simply. 

Seokmin makes a small noise like he agrees, and they go quiet. Suddenly, Minghao wishes for the stones they used to skip on the river. It would be a nice distraction, something to do with his hands.

“You didn’t come by, the last time I asked,” Seokmin says.

Indeed, when the guard outside of the king’s chambers told him about the prince’s request, Minghao bowed and said, “You can inform him that I am too tired.” That was a few days ago now, and since, Minghao has been eating his lunch at odd times to avoid answering to Seokmin about it in the kitchens.

“I apologize,” Minghao says now.

“Mingyu told me he was worried he upset you.”

Minghao let out a sour little laugh despite himself. “You can tell Prince Mingyu he did nothing of the sort. I doubt he has the capacity to upset a mouse.”

“Minghao,” Seokmin says. “It feels silly to say I have missed you in such a short period of days, but I’m afraid that I have.”

“It is silly,” Minghao tells him. “Who am I to miss?”

“You are my friend,” Seokmin tells him. There’s hurt in his voice, and it digs into Minghao like a knife, but he can’t help the fact that he has always had a stronger stomach than Seokmin when it comes to these kinds of things.

“Is that all I am? Because your husband seems certain that you are in love with me.” 

He says it quickly, without looking at Seokmin; he keeps his eyes trained ahead on the water, the reflection of the moon in its surface. For a moment, everything is still, to match the surface of the pond. And then Seokmin says, “I can see why that would upset you.” 

Minghao turns to him sharply, and finds Seokmin looking ahead, expression sad at the edges. 

“Is he right?” Minghao asks. His voice is quiet, but he needs — he needs to know. And he knows Seokmin is too honest, too unfamiliar with the thought of evasion, to do anything but tell Minghao the truth.

Seokmin hesitates before he speaks. “I never asked for such a thing, I hope you know. I did not — I no more wanted to be in love with you than you would want me to. Nor have I ever expected anything in return. It is selfish, the way I have always come back to you, and maybe it is selfish to have you here at all. I am sorry for that.” 

Minghao feels breathless. His mind goes blank, like he has never known anything at all as he stares at the dignified line of Seokmin’s profile in the moonlight. 

“I have never thought you selfish,” Minghao manages. A stupid thing to say, but it’s what he has said, so he continues on. “I have wanted you every time you have come to me.” 

“You have not wanted me the same way I wanted you,” Seokmin says.

Minghao shakes his head. “How do you know how I’ve wanted you? I barely knew myself.”

At that, Seokmin finally turns to him. “Then how do you want me now?” Seokmin asks, voice hushed.

Minghao never had this dream. Never imagined the two of them arced toward each other in the secret of nightfall, faces a breath apart. But despite that, it still feels like a fantasy come to life, something unreal and hard to understand even as their faces pull close together.

Minghao has never been kissed before. He’s had no use for it, and no one he ever desired it from. Maybe, he thinks, as parts of him shatter to pieces under the barest press of Seokmin’s lips, there was a reason for that. The kiss is tiny, brief, a touch of lips before Seokmin pulls away and Minghao exhales heavy and shaky. More unsteady than he ever wanted to be; he never intended to be weak in the hands of a prince.

“Yes. I am in love with you,” Seokmin tells him, voice barely above a whisper. 

“I am beginning to wonder if I have always loved you,” Minghao says back, eyes pressed closed. 

Seokmin offers a breath of a laugh, close enough that Minghao feels it on his lips. “Fools, the both of us.”

“There is no arguing that,” Minghao agrees. He blinks his eyes open again and finds Seokmin’s so close, looking straight through him, and Minghao does not hold himself back from leaning forward and kissing Seokmin again. It is a foolish thing to do, a selfish thing to do, but there is ten years of curiosity held just behind his lips. Seokmin permits him the kiss, reaches forward until his hand rests on Minghao’s shoulder, and Minghao had not realized that he had so badly wanted to be touched. 

The surprise of it pulls him away from Seokmin, just enough to rest their foreheads together, and they both breathe out heavy.

“I suppose we need to speak with your husband,” Minghao says, voice soft.

“Yes,” Seokmin agrees, pulling away from Minghao just barely. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

++

Minghao hung outside the door of Seokmin’s quarters as he walked in, feeling more and more intrusive by the minute. Under more normal circumstances, perhaps he would think himself a terrible person; after all, the man he kissed in the moonlight was married, happily so. But the way Mingyu came to him those days ago — it gave him pause from thinking too poorly of he and Seokmin.

Still, this wasn’t his place, outside of the prince’s bedroom. The few night guards paid them no mind, but Minghao still felt a sense of judgment. After a moment, the prince’s door opens again, and Seokmin ushers him into the room. 

Mingyu is sitting, barely awake, on the edge of a large bed in his light sleep clothes. Minghao is upset to find that he is one of those rare people who looks beautiful even half-awake, and then feels his cheeks burn at the thought.

“The two of you look terribly worried,” Mingyu tells them, voice raspy with sleep. 

Seokmin does look worried, it’s true. His face is downcast with guilt, and Minghao sighs at the sight of it. 

“It pains me to say it,” Minghao says, stepping into the silence. “But Prince Mingyu, you were right.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says with a yawn. “Yes, I usually am.”

Minghao makes a face and Mingyu laughs quietly. “I don’t think you like me very much, Xu Minghao.”

“On the contrary, it upsets me how charming I find you,” Minghao says, complaint in his voice. 

“Ah,” Mingyu says with another little laugh. “I suppose that’s better. I find you quite interesting myself. Handsome, too.”

“I thought you were supposed to be well-mannered,” Minghao says faintly. He crosses his arms, feeling embarrassed.

“I show much more restraint than this when I have been awake for longer than a few moments,” Mingyu tells him.

Seokmin, standing between them, looks confused. Mingyu notices Minghao looking at Seokmin and follows suit, and his face grows sympathetic. 

“Seokmin,” Mingyu says, “Don’t look so upset. You have come to tell me you love him, haven’t you? But I knew you loved him from the first time you spoke his name.”

At that, Seokmin looks more fraught than ever, and Mingyu smiles. “I believe that you are a man worth sharing.” 

Seokmin gives Mingyu a disbelieving look. “How can you say that so easily?”

“Who am I to tell you to forget a lifelong love? A husband you never asked for, that’s your choice over him? You are an honor-bound man, I know, but you do not need to bend yourself so easily to follow what someone else has told you is right,” Mingyu says. “It’s a stupid choice to need to make, so I have decided you don’t need to make it. I decided it the first night I met him.”

“Did you,” Minghao comments, raising an eyebrow. 

“If I’m being honest, I hoped you would grow fonder of me than you seemed that night,” Mingyu tells Minghao. 

“I was too fond of you for my liking, actually,” Minghao tells him. Mingyu gives him a smile, pretty and a bit smug, and Minghao glares at him. 

“I am happy for the two of you,” Mingyu tells them both, and his face goes more serious as he says it. “It seems a difficult thing to find, love.”

“Perhaps too easy for me to find,” Seokmin says with a sigh. “I don’t like you speaking as if I don’t care for you too. And that doesn’t seem fair to either of you.”

Mingyu’s face softens. “I had hoped that you did, I’ll admit,” he says. 

“It was no secret to me,” Minghao adds. He runs a hand through his hair, looks between Seokmin and Mingyu. “I know nothing of love, and certainly nothing of marriage. I scarcely know my own heart, and the thought of knowing yours, Seokmin, frightens me. But I — I know that I would like to kiss you again.” 

“And if he has us both?” Mingyu asks Minghao. 

“I have no problem with it,” Minghao admits. “You make him happy, whether you think so or not.”

“What if I made you happy too?” Mingyu asks. He’s teasing now, and it works, as flustered as Minghao is by the situation. 

“I find you beautiful to look at, and insufferable to hear,” Minghao says, trying to stamp out the blush on his own cheeks.

“We’ll see,” Mingyu comments. “I have heard tell that you are awfully charmed by me.”

“It feels like selfishness,” Seokmin says, interrupting their barely-disguised sniping, “to ask for the both of you.”

“Seokmin, you know nothing of selfishness,” Minghao tells him easily. “Or greed, or injustice. Mingyu is right, you would chase after the promise of honor til you met your own early grave. If there is anyone who deserves more love than they set out to have, it is you.” The words are as kind as Seokmin deserves, but there is something vulnerable about saying them in front of Mingyu, who looks at him with an agreeing smile. 

“Now come to bed,” Mingyu says. “And bring him too, if you’d like. But it’s far too late to stay up speaking of love.” 

And Minghao admits, there is something pleasant in having two of them to convince Seokmin to stop being a fool. And perhaps, too, there is something pleasant in having company as he drifts carefully to sleep, trying not to think too much about the two men sleeping near him.

++

The months go like this: the king recovers. Slowly, day by day, he gains his health back. Minghao is only going by in the evenings now, just as the sun begins to set. The princess takes the throne, carries the responsibility without any complaint on her graceful shoulders. Minghao spends half of his nights in the prince’s bedroom, usually doing little more than talking but sometimes, doing considerably more than talking. Seokmin took some weeks to put aside his trickle of remaining guilt at the two of them coexisting at his side, but some nights it seems not to bother him at all as he leans forward with all the bravery and boldness Minghao has always known him to have and kisses Minghao the way Minghao has never dreamed of.

(Some nights, too, Minghao nods encouragingly as Seokmin presses a kiss to Mingyu’s waiting lips, and finds it interesting to consider his attraction to the sight of them.)

“What if people talk?” Seokmin will fret occasionally. 

“Oh, I am thrilled at the rumors that would start. The sorcerer’s son, a royal escort,” Minghao says with a laugh, turning a page of his book. Most of his spellbooks are in the princes’ chambers by now.

“The prince’s kept boy,” Mingyu adds. 

“I don’t want anyone to speak of you that way,” Seokmin says, looking concerned.

“Luckily,” Minghao says, “I have never had much time for anything anyone has said about me. Anyone except you, that is. Until the queen herself orders me to stop laying with her brother, I am happy to endure people talking.”

Seokmin goes deep red. Mingyu snorts a laugh. “You should consider laying with me too.”

Minghao ignores him, walks over to lean down and press a kiss to Seokmin’s forehead. 

It is not nearly as fearsome to love someone as Minghao thought. Perhaps, Minghao thinks, it even makes it easier having someone else to help.

(And perhaps, though he hasn’t said as much to Mingyu, perhaps he is finding room for more than once prince to keep steady in his heart.)

Seokmin tilts his head up, catches Minghao in a real kiss, and Minghao smiles against his lips. 

“You are worth a tarnished reputation, anyway,” Minghao tells him when he pulls away. “For that matter, you are too,” he aims at Mingyu.

The truth is, he is coming to believe they are worth just about anything he has to give. And as Mingyu makes a pleased little noise, looking warm at the comment, and Seokmin beams up at him, Minghao thinks about how willing he has become to give.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! i can be found on twitter & curiouscat @idlemoonlight


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